I open my eyes with difficulty, my sight blurry. As I rub them tiredly, I manage to focus them, only to freeze at the unfamiliar room I find myself in. Thick stone walls with only a narrow window providing light, wooden rafts, and a damn uncomfortable hard bed. I look around confused, my eyes searching for anything familiar, but besides the bed and a big wooden chest, the small room is otherwise empty. Well… empty except for the person dozing to the side of my bed in what appears to be the only chair available in my room…
Where the hell am I? I close my eyes and try to remember. I was at home cooking when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my chest. After that… weird… I can't remember anything after that… wait! Don't tell me!
Before panic manages to grip me, I faint. Memories start flooding my brain, memories not mine, and knowledge I never had. After a few minutes that felt like eons, the influx subsides and then stops, leaving me the unlucky possessor of the strongest migraine of my life. Gradually the new memories merge with the old ones as the new knowledge gets assimilated, until finally, I open my mouth and exclaim softly,
"Fuuuuck!"
Yup, as you might have guessed, I transmigrated to another world, in the body of a poor slob that recently died. How recently, you might ask? Pretty much the moment I transmigrated. Goodbye Earth, hello Alvor!
Let's take stock, shall we?
My new name is Edgard, third son of the house of Foxton. My father is Manford, baron of Bolexe. You might think it would be great, being a noble and all, but in reality… sigh…
The old Edgard was an untalented sort, and what with him being the third son, his parents consider him a "spare" for the "spare", not needed and useless. This attitude carried over to his sibling, with whom he has an abysmal relationship. Well, if you can call being a scapegoat and treated worse than a servant a relationship, that is…
In any case, Edgard spent most of his time in the family library, said library his refuge against the constant bullying, and the books within his lifeline. All changed though when the baron became ill. The illness persisted for a long time, with a lot of ups and downs, but ultimately, two weeks ago, the baron entered a coma from which the healers believed he would never wake up. And that, my friends, is where things get more fucked up.
Timothy, Big Brother dearest, goes all out to assert his position as he takes the reins of the barony "temporarily". As a result, in less than three days all my father's loyal retainers are shifted to minor positions, while the power gets concentrated in the hands of Big Brother's cronies. My second brother Alexander, thirsty for the title as well, starts a campaign of rumors against Timothy, unearthing, among other things, all the bastards that Timothy has sired in the barony, which, according to gossip, numbers between 100 and 150. A local bard got inspired by it and created a song called "Timothy's Company", where all the army members share the same surname. The song was well received in the taverns, but the bard was forced to make himself scarce with some alacrity as a not-amused Timothy scoured the whole barony to find, and I quote, "The Ill-begotten bastard", at which point, of course, another rumor circulated that the minstrel was one of his sons and he created the song to get even with his papa...
Amidst all this kerfuffle, it became obvious to Edgard that his peaceful days were over. Well aware of Timothy's sadistic streak and with a plethora of examples of siblings disposed of in a bid for a title, courtesy of his beloved books, it doesn't take long for him to pack lightly, grab his savings, and disappear in the middle of the night with his two loyal servants, the butler Alfric and the clerk Edwin. Two days later, they pass the border into the Duchy of Altlia, and there, Edgard gets a painful lesson on trust and loyalty: Edwin, the clerk who stayed by his side for the last ten years, manages to poison his food before disappearing into the night. That should have been the end for poor Edgard, but Alfric had no intention of letting his lord die in the middle of nowhere, so after making him throw up and feeding him an antidote potion, he tied him on top of the horse and sped for the nearest town, Rocheapton.
Arriving in the middle of the night and bribing a guard to open the gate, Alfric gallops to the local temple while leading Edgard's horse, hoping to find a priest or a healer there, only to be told by the temple guard that no priest or healer will accept patients in the middle of the night. Without other options, Alfric rents a room in a nearby inn and after settling his master in bed, sits next to him, waiting for morning to come. I know all this because while immobilized and semi-delirious, Edgard's memories say as much.
And that's where I come in, Paul, 47, IT consultant and hobbyist chef, now a permanent guest in a foreign body. Sigh… better than dying completely I guess…
Ok, I know who I am, where I am, why I am here and who is the sleeping princess on the chair. Now before I wake Alfric, it is best if I do a bit of pre-planning.